


Religious Experience

by Su_Whisterfield



Series: Squaring the Circle [9]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Polyamory, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: Logan has added a new notch to his bed post.He may have some explaining to do.
Relationships: Logan/Kurt Wagner
Series: Squaring the Circle [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544149
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

”Fuck! Fuck! Oh God!” I’m coming so fuckin’ hard, it’s a religious fuckin’ experience.  
And he swallows.  
I think, I hope, I’m forgiven.

****

So, I, we kinda did something.  
Put it like this, it got rid of the goddamn years of arguments, yelling matches and out and out fist fights between me an’ Slim.  
Certainly released the tension, if ya’ get my drift.

But afterwards. Afterwards I got to thinking about him.  
The other ‘him’.  
How he never once gets between me an’ Jeannie. Between me an’ anyone else.  
How I’d promised both him, and me, that I’d take a bit better care of the precious gift that he is. Yeah, by addin’ Summers to the notches on my bed post.

Crap.

Jean calls me out on it, right away.  
“Go talk to him.”  
“Now?”  
“Now. He and Scott are attending Melody Guthrie’s resurrection, we’ll meet them there.” She crosses her arms and glares at me.  
I’m not in trouble for having sex with her husband, I’m in trouble for not telling my boyfriend beforehand.  
Fuckin’ boyfriend? What the hell else do I call him? Fuck toy? Toy boy?  
No. Friend. My best friend, first and foremost.

My head hurts, think I’ll go an’ be a monk on a remote island somewhere, it’d be easier.

****

The resurrection is spectacular, as they are.  
I wouldn’t go to The Crucible thing.  
I get why it needed, but there has to be a better way. And I really don’t like that it’s public.  
_Panem et circenses_? Is that what we’ve become?

Kurt was there; I know why, he feels responsible, even though I know he fought hard to block it, he’s Council, he feels he has to. 

But why was everyone else there?  
To watch a pretty girl get sacrificed in the arena?  
It leaves a bitter, sour taste in my mouth.  
If ya’ have to do it, make it a private affair. Family only?  
I dunno. I don’t have the answers.

He’s standing with Slim, they’re talking, they’ve not noticed me an’ Jeannie.  
Two strong, muscled backs. Two nice asses. Two fine men.  
Fuck.  
Yeah, I do. Frequently. Often without thinking of the consequences.

Fuck.

Jean links arm with him. Not with her husband, but with her friend. Our friend.  
“Dinner, our habitat.” He opens him mouth but she shakes her head. “Aha, no arguments. Ororo is coming up too.”  
Jeannie is very good at Elf wrangling, he’d argue or refuse me or Scotty, but he won’t say no to her.

****

He spends the whole meal wittering on about this mutant religion crap. I can feel my eyes glazing over, Scotty too. We go sit on the sofas. Leave them to it. ‘Ro, Jeannie and Ray seem to be enjoying it, they’re full of ideas and opinions too.  
“So.”  
“So?” I take a swig of beer and scowl at him.  
“You tell him?” He nods his head towards the table and the lively discussion. Kurt’s waving his fork around, in mid flow.  
I start peeling the label off the beer bottle. Oh look, glue, who’d’ve guessed?

His voice, filled with passion and enthusiasm washes over us. He’s a remarkable man. Not a boy.  
Friend. Just my friend.

Me an’ Jeannie an’ Slim have a pretty sweet gig goin’ on here.  
I don’t want to fuck it up.

I could give him up. Anytime. We’ve always gone through patches where one or the other of us was with someone else. This is no different.  
But.  
He’s laughing. His laugh is warm.  
His laughter...  
Anytime. Just a friend.

I put the bottle down on the table with a loud thunk. The dinner table goes quiet.  
Slim covers for me. “Hey, Kurt, does this mean we get to elect you pope?”  
“Oh, heavens! Don’t even joke about it!”  
“Wasn’t there a female pope?” Rachel asks.  
The laughter is back, tension is dissipated.

I walk him home.

It’s code, see.  
‘Walking Kurt home’ is code for ‘We’re off to his place to fuck like...’ Like friends do.  


Ororo leaves by a different portal. Kurt embraces her as she’s going, they lean into each other, draw strength from each other.  
They were on opposing sides over The Crucible.  
It’s not often they disagree over something so big and neither of them likes it.  
But they love each other too much for it to get between them.  
Then she’s gone.

“C’mon, your holiness.”  
That gets me a slightly exasperated wrinkle of the aristocratic nose. He knows I haven’t got time for religion. I know how important it is to him. We usually avoid the topic.  
I put my arm around his shoulder as we go through the portal to his habitat, covering a quarter of a million miles in a heartbeat. It’s like magic.

****

He fusses about in the kitchenette, making green tea while I work my way down another beer.  
I watch him out of the corner of my eye, even making the tea he’s graceful, like a dancer. Squatting on the counter to reach cups, still graceful. I can’t reach a damn thing in his damn cupboards. I think it’s deliberate.  
He’s prattling on, about getting a group together to discuss forming a mutant religion. It’s a monologue, he’s not expecting me to contribute. I sometimes wonder if he even rabbits on when he’s alone?  
He needs to be taken out of his own head. Too many scintillating ideas, too bright, too sharp, he’ll cut himself. He needs me to ground him, to earth him back to the here and now.

I stand up and go and take the cups from his hands. Take hold of those slender, strong wrists.  
“Elf?” He shuts up. Tilts his head, looks down as me. Puzzled. Those eyes. Those matchless eyes. 

See, it’s fine when we’re fucking other people, when they’re strangers. It’s different when it’s someone we both know. It all nearly ended in tears when it was me an’ ‘Ro.  
Trust me, you don’t want to see those golden eyes looking at you when they’re filled with hurt. When it’s you who’s hurt him.  
It tears your soul to shreds.

“Logan?” His voice is soft. I can’t keep eye contact. My instinct is to deflect, to distract him with a kiss; if I do, Jeannie will flay me alive. And he deserves more, he deserves me being honest with him.  
“Er. Well...”  
He’s not dumb, ‘Ro says he has emotional intelligence? Huh? I just know he’s good with folks, good at knowin’ what’s goin’ on in yer head. Particularly mine. Even when I haven’t got a clue.  
I’ve still got hold of his wrists, he twists them, ever so slightly, out of my grasp. His scent is confused, not scared, just slightly worried.  
He turns away, finishes the tea and carries the lacquered tray into the lounge, sits on the sofa. Waiting for me.  
I follow him through, go rest my ass on the window ledge.

“Yeah, well, see, me an’ Scotty...” I don’t get any further. Emotionally intelligent; he fills in the blanks for himself. How the hell does he do it?  
“You’ve become lovers.” A simple statement, not a question. I nod, look away. The seconds tick by. “Oh, is that all?” He huffs out a breath, his tail tip twitches. “I thought something bad had happened.”  
“No, it’s just...” I wave my hand, indicating the pair of us. I’m crap at this talking shit.  
He looks at me. Gets up and comes over to me, his arms go around me and the tension in his scent dissipates. “You thought I’d be cross? Why? Why would I be...” he pulls back slightly. “This doesn’t change anything, does it?”  
“Course not, darlin’, it’s just...”  
“You don’t need my permission.” He’s sounding genuinely puzzled. “You never have before.”  
“I thought, ’cos it was Scotty? You didn’t much like me bein’ with ‘Ro”  
He looks away, remembering, but he still has those soft, strong arms around me. I run my hands down his back, relief washes warm through me, his scent and his body language tells me more than any words.  
“That was... I was..” His voice is quiet, reflective. “I was jealous.”  
“I know. She’s quite a woman.”  
He giggles. He out and out giggles at me. At me. “I wasn’t jealous of you having Ororo.” He brings his head down, rests his forehead against mine. “I was jealous of Ororo having you. Of being able to be public with her affection for you. While we had to hide in the shadows.”  
Oh. Oh, okay. And we worked it out in the end, the three of us. We can work this out too.

I lift his chin, capture his sweet, soft mouth. He moulds himself to me and we make out, like teenagers, tongues playing around each other.

I can’t believe how relieved I am.  
How much I don’t want to lose this.  
To lose him.  
Not even for what I’ve got on the Moon?  
No, not even for that.

His mouth latches on to my throat, those sharp little fangs.  
I growl. He licks my neck. Kisses the tender skin. Naughty boy.  
Clever, dexterous hands are working on my belt.  
He slips onto his knees, still graceful, always graceful and starts blowing me.  
Fuck, that’s... yeah.

Me an’ Slim, lots of anger, fury even, lots of frustration. On both sides.  
Jeannie? Forbidden, suppressed passion an’ fire.  
But this?  
This is simple, easy. No anger. Kindness, gentleness, good sex.

Oh fuck. Really good sex. He’s doing that thing with his tongue, pressing it under the head while his lips are tight around the shaft. Oh, god. He could suck the chrome off a...

Then he’s got one of those long, thick, fingers up my ass and I’m losing it. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Oh God! Elf!”

****

“You know I don’t like it when you blaspheme.”  
“I’m sorry, darlin’. Really.” Not just about my language.  
We’ve moved it into the bedroom, his bed is sinfully comfortable. So is that soft, fragrant fur under my cheek, smelling of musk and man and me. 

So, there we have it; I can fuck whoever I want, but I need to mind my language.

We move round so he’s comfy, I’m too heavy to be on top for long and he likes to sleep on me. I like him to sleep on me. He yawns. I stroke my hand down his back. “Mm.” Another little yawn. “Mm. Yes.” He settles down to sleep.  
His tail coils loosely around my wrist. It’s subconscious and it’s slightly possessive; he not _quite_ as secure as he’d like to think.

Then he raises his head, eyes half closed. ”You remember Stéphane don’t you?...”


	2. Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt’s reminds Logan that, while he may live on the moon, as part of the Summers/Grey clan, he will always be welcome in Kurt’s bed too.

Boy, does he get worked up over nothing. And I’ve got quite enough on my plate at the moment, without your drama, thank you, Mr Howlett.  
This time it’s over Scott.  
Heavens above, I’d far rather you were having sex with him than trying to beat his head in. Or screaming at each other, like a pair of fishwives. It’s gone on for years, it’s deeply tedious, enough.

But it’s sweet that he was concerned. Concerned that it would bother me.

I gave him a quick reminder of why he enjoys my company.  
I’m pretty good at it, even if I do say so myself, practice makes perfect.  
Even if he is my only test subject.

Then we retire to my bed.   
After, he has his head on my stomach, holding me.   
Poor man. He is trying, so very hard, I shouldn’t get frustrated with him.

I tell him about Stéphane, see, _liebling_ , I’m not hanging about, pining for you.   
I have my own life.  
I don’t want to tie you down, I don’t want you to belong to me or me to you.  
I just like what we have.

I always sleep well when he’s my pillow. Even though he snores.  
He says he doesn’t. But he does.

**** 

In the morning we’re both up for something a bit more energetic.

While he’s plowing into me, hard and focused, I look up at him.  
Oh, oh, yes, that’s good. He’s good.  
This massive, muscular killing machine. With his soft underbelly, his love for the small, the helpless, the vulnerable. None of which, of course, applies to me.

But it is nice to be passive, for a while, to lie there and be made love to. When I’m with a female partner, I’m usually the more active participant, and, sometimes, with him too. But just giving myself over, just for a little while, is enjoyable in its own way. It makes me feel desired. Wanted.

He has years, decades of experience in pleasing a partner and impressive, ah, stamina. It’s really enjoyable. Which is what sex should be.

Ah, ah, ah. He’s, he’s hitting the spot, my body is responding, oh, yeah.  
Oh! I stop thinking for a while and enjoy the ride. Oh, oh, oh!

I hope I don’t have a Council meeting today, those chairs are hard and uncomfortable enough, but after this mornings work out, they’d be a nightmare!

And he’s done, with a grunt and a few hard, deep thrusts. I stroke his broad, hairy back.  
I trust him not to hurt me. Oh, I may be a bit achey or sore afterwards, but nothing significant.  
My body enjoys this, enjoys the sex. I enjoy it.  
Why don’t I desire other men?  
Why is it just him?  
If Jeanne-Marie or Jean Paul, both, anyone would agree, spectacularly beautiful people, were before me, I’d want her, not him. Sigh. I’ve given up trying to analyse it.   
It’s just him. Just Logan.

“You okay, darlin’?”  
I smile up at him, caress his cheek, draw him down into a kiss.  
“Always, with you.”  
He shakes his head. “Ah, Elf, what ya’ do to me.”

We’re not loves young dream, were not some cosmic love story, we’re just friends, best friends, with benefits, definitely with benefits.

I need to start working on a mutant religion, need to set up a focus group, our people deserve my full attention on that task.   
One thing for sure though, celibacy won’t be playing a part in it.

**Author's Note:**

> Mr Hickman has been, er, flirting with Scott/Logan. How’s that going to effect his relationship with Kurt?  
> And _we_ all remember Stéphane and the reheated enchiladas...


End file.
